


Coriolis Effect

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Cooperates To Lessen Physical Injury, Enduring rape to distract an enemy, Groping Escalates to Rape, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape to turn to side, Rapist accuses victim of enticing them, Stalking, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Male Supervillain noncons Male Superhero





	Coriolis Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warpropti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warpropti/gifts).



 

The plan worked almost too perfectly.

Gyre sent out a broadcast implying the warehouse location of his non-existent hostages. The Shade took the bait and showed up.

At first, it was beautiful. Everything he’d hoped for and more. Gyre watched from behind a pile of discarded factory equipment as the Shade phased in through one of the locked loading doors. Gyre found that interesting. The man could have chosen any random patch of wall to slink through, and yet he still chose a door, albeit a locked one.

Broken windows near the warehouse’s roof let in stripes of dusty sunlight. The Shade stepped from one shadow to the next. The patterns of light on the man’s tight-fitting, black body suit; the dust motes floating in the stagnant summer heat; the smell of sawdust and engine grease; the way the Shade kept turning as he walked so that his back never faced the same direction for more than a few seconds at a time – Gyre found it all incredibly alluring. He wanted to savour his moment of conquest, to gloat over the confused pivot of the Shade’s head as the man examined his surroundings and realized that there were no hostages.

That he had walked into a trap.

It sprung without resistance. Gyre hit the switch on his stabilization device. It let out a soft, almost inaudible whine. The Shade turned a slow circle, utterly unaware of his own defeat. The only noise was the crunch of the wood litter and garbage under his feet. The warehouse seemed to thrum with anticipation. The Shade’s face creased behind his mask. Gyre’s pulse quickened with excitement. This was the moment. The Shade knew something was wrong. Gyre stood up from behind the pile of rubbish.

In his mind, Gyre had seen this moment unfolding as a dramatic reveal, with the Shade instantly recognising him and understanding that he had lost and Gyre had won. Maybe a bit of capitulation and begging, followed by earnest discussion and mutual appreciation.

“I’m here to help,” the Shade said, extending a black gloved hand towards Gyre. His voice hit all the right notes for soothing reassurance. “Are the others safe? Are they here?”

Gyre felt his gut drop with disappointment. All of his planning and the Shade didn’t recognise him? Thought that he was some pathetic victim? Granted, Gyre did keep a low profile, and they hadn’t met in person before this moment, but every time Gyre had run through this meeting in his head, the Shade had put two and two together and figured out who he was. He hadn’t planned for any other out come. He felt vaguely insulted. Like he’d been jilted on a date.

For the first time in his life, Gyre considered the merits of wearing a ridiculous costume and mask ensemble. Wearing one’s logo on one’s chest was indisputably tacky, but it did give instant brand recognition. Well, if he couldn’t have a dramatic grand reveal, at least he could have a charming introduction. Gyre gave the Shade a small half-smile which he hoped came across as suave and inviting.

“Oh, everyone’s here,” Gyre said, gesturing towards the catwalks stretching between the warehouse’s front and back mezzanines. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time.”

A dozen of Gyre’s hired guns leaned over the railings, aiming their weapons. A frenzy of little red dots appeared on the Shade’s chest. The Shade looked from the thugs, to the dots, to Gyre.

“I see,” the Shade said, before bolting.

One of the guns fired a warning shot. The sound of it echoing through the warehouse made Gyre’s head ring. He noticed a tear in the Shade’s body suit along one arm. Pale skin and red blood showed through.

“Wait!” Gyre shouted. “I think you’re getting the wrong impression.”

The Shade dived towards the loading doors he’d originally phased in through, but, thanks to the device buzzing in Gyre’s pocket, instead of sliding through the spaces between atoms to freedom, the Shade slammed head first into solid metal and fell in a heap. Up on the catwalk, someone giggled.

Gyre sighed. He walked over to the crumpled superhero and prodded him gently with the toe of his boot. Gyre turned his attention to the figures shuffling on the catwalks. The temperature in the warehouse dropped.

“Who fired,” Gyre asked.

 

*     

 

Jackson Shae knew that he’d been lucky with his “side job” rescuing innocents, chasing off potential muggers, and cornering criminals who thought they were safe behind locked doors. He could phase, he was a big guy, and he was fairly quick on his feet, but he didn’t have super speed, or super strength, or any kind of kung fu action.

He knew from watching the news that a lot of would-be vigilantes ended up dead or hospitalized very early in their careers. He’d been shot at before, but he’d always been able to phase the bullets through his body without sustaining any damage. He’d definitely never knocked himself out by smashing his skull against a door before. He’d never been captured.

“I suppose it was an ignominious meeting on both our parts. I take all of the blame. It was entirely poor planning on my part. I saw things happening very differently in my mind. I should have forgone the dramatics and simply knocked on your door, but that’s all past now, and here we are.”

There was a man pacing back and forth in front of him, muttering.

“I hope you can find it in your heart to accept my apologies when you wake up.”

It was evening and the only light came from a glaring stand positioned a few feet behind the pacing man. Jackson’s arms ached, the left more than the right. They were chained above his head, affixed to a pipe, or a rafter. He could smell and taste blood. He could also smell sawdust, and mold, and old machinery. He suspected he was still in the warehouse. There was a metal railing pressed against his back, and more chains around his waist keeping him pinned to it. Judging by the way the pacing man’s voice echoed and the draft blowing up behind him, Jackson thought he was probably on one of the mezzanines.

“This was meant to be a friendly introduction, but then one thing led to another…”

Jackson licked his lips. He was still wearing his mask, but it had been pulled up high enough to expose his mouth and the bottom of his nose. He tried to phase out of his restraints, and, while he felt the familiar hum of his body’s atoms rearranging, he somehow couldn’t push himself through his chains.

“I want you to know that I haven’t lost any respect for you. Your actions made complete sense under the circumstances and I have severely disciplined the staff member who laughed at your accident.”

Jackson squinted against the glare at the pacing man. His head throbbed. His vision was slightly blurry and he wasn’t certain how much of that was head injury and how much was shit lighting. The pacing man was average height, slightly round, and wore a long coat despite the summer heat. He was definitely the creep who’d summoned the goons who’d shot at him, and probably the same creep who’d sent out the broadcast about hostages by the docks in the first place.

“Are there any hostages,” Jackson asked, using his Shade voice.

“You’re awake!” the man said, clapping his hands and grinning.

“Or was it just a ploy?” Jackson continued. Wherever his interactions with this asshole went, and Jackson was certain they weren’t going anywhere good, he had to know that there weren’t innocents suffering in the shadows because of his mistake. Whatever that mistake had been. He still wasn’t certain what it was. He _should_ have gone through that door.

“A minor fib,” the man said, leaning towards Jackson. Jackson instinctively leaned back, putting more strain on his wrists and his injured arm. He breathed sharply through his nose, trying to find anything about the situation that could be turned to his advantage. Information was what he needed.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet. We’ve been dancing around each other for so long now, and I have been following your exploits for even longer than that.”

“Pretend I just knocked myself out and my head hurts and I’m not in any mood for riddles. You obviously want me to know who you are, so tell me your name.”

“I am Gyre,” the man said, striking what was probably meant to be an impressive pose. He held it for a long, awkward moment, obviously awaiting recognition.

“Should I know you?” Jackson asked, wondering as he did if this was the right route to go. “Because I’ve definitely never met you before tonight.”

The man was obviously a narcissist. It might be safer to bloat his ego until he made a mistake. But Jackson hurt. His hands kept swinging between cold numbness and the worst kind of pins and needles. His shoulders were screaming. The bullet graze on his arm stung worse than a hornet’s nest. His head feet like it was being squeezed in a vice. All in all, Jackson wasn’t certain that he could pull off pretend fawning admiration for a psychopathic stranger.

“I try to keep a low profile,” Gyre said, reaching up to stroke the curve of Jackson’s exposed jawline. His touch was unnaturally cold. “Perhaps I’ve been too subtle for my own good, but I thought that a wise man like yourself would have figured me out already. I represent an affiliation of individuals with heightened abilities.”

“I mostly deal with domestic violence and barfights,” Jackson said, doing his best not to flinch away as Gyre started feeling up his chest, playing with his nipples through the thin fabric of his suit. “I try to stay out of the super powered intermural activities.  I’m not part of the big leagues.”

Gyre nuzzled his face against the curve of Jackson’s neck, sniffing at his exposed skin. He whispered into Jackson’s ear:

“But you could be.”

So that was what this was; some kind of sick recruitment offer. Jackson knew there were criminal syndicates who expanded their ranks by approaching newly gifted individuals with an offer: “join us or die.”

But Jackson wasn’t newly gifted. He’d been working as the Shade for half a decade, dealing with low level crimes for the most part. He generally stayed away from anything big enough to attract negative attention from the syndicates, but did enough work to make a positive impact and show that he wasn’t anyone to fuck with for no good reason.

“I prefer being one of the little guys.”

Gyre continued rubbing Jackson’s chest, digging in his fingers around the sides to feel ribs under the hard layers of muscle. His legs brushed against Jackson’s legs.

“Unfortunately, nature seems to have had other ideas about your fate,” Gyre said. His groping became more intense. Jackson knew it would leave bruises. “You seem plenty big to me.”

Jackson became aware of another point of pressure against his leg. He looked down. It was difficult to tell in the low light, and with the obstruction of the man’s coat, but he thought Gyre was hard.

“I’ve watched you,” Gyre said, grinding against Jackson’s hip. “It’s not hard. The world is so interconnected now. CCTV cameras, and Instagram, and cellphone videos on Facebook. I’ve watched you for years, and you fascinate me. The way you move. The way you stalk your targets. Your power – “

Gyre reached up with both hands and pulled Jackson’s face down into a terrible, face smashing kiss. He lingered over it, gnawing on Jackson’s lip for awhile, before backing away to study the expression on Jackson’s face. It obviously wasn’t to his liking. His hand drew back, curling into a fist. Jackson readied himself for a blow. Instead, Gyre, visibly restraining himself, laid two fingers over Jackson’s swollen lips.

“Do you know how much effort I put into this meeting? How many hours of research I spent searching for ways to suspend your phasing ability?”

The words pulled Jackson past his pain and revulsion. Information. The next step was finding out how Gyre was preventing him from utilizing his abilities. Was it an airborne drug? A metal which could only be permeated from one side?

“I just wish I knew how to make you see what I have to offer,” Gyre said, pressing himself against Jackson’s body.

Jackson felt light-headed. He was aware of the sweat building up under his body suit; His own body odour overwhelming the smells of the warehouse beneath them. Gyre reached around the chains and the railing to squeeze Jackson’s ass, twisting and kneading through the bodysuit. Gyre pressed his hands in. The thin layer of hyper-flexible fabric felt like no protection at all as Jackson’s felt his cheeks being spread and one of Gyre’s fingers traced the crack between them. The sensation seemed magnified by the cloth barrier. Jackson involuntarily clenched around it.

“I know it will make you happy,” Gyre said, withdrawing himself and taking a step back. He put his hands in his coat pockets and looked Jackson up and down. “Can I just tell you what an honor it is, to finally meet in person?”

“What happens if I turn you down?” Jackson asked.

“I know you won’t.”

 

*

 

He knew no such thing, but there was nothing like a hopeful attitude for getting results. Gyre experimentally turned off the stabilization device. The Shade didn’t react. Gyre wondered when he would notice the return of his abilities, or if he would notice.

There were so many things he wanted to do. He’d fantasized about having the Shade at his mercy for years, but it turned out that the situation wasn’t as enticing as he’d hoped. Removing the metaphysical constraints brought back enough risk to make things interesting.

Gyre removed his coat, letting it puddle around his feet, and unbuttoned his pants.

The Shade hung in front of him. Silent, threatening, vulnerable, and enticing. Gyre wrapped his arms around the man’s chest, savouring his groans as Gyre added his weight to the strain on his wrists. If the Shade was going to phase away from him, this would be the time. Gyre kissed the man again, ignoring the way the Shade averted his eyes.

Gyre reached up to touch the bullet graze on the Shade’s left arm. It had stopped bleeding and begun to scab. The Shade flinched at the examination. Gyre wiggled his finger in the hole in the Shade’s costume, making it bigger a little bit at a time. If he’d been thinking, he would have brought scissors. He pulled harder and was rewarded with a soft sound as the fabric tore.

There was something alluringly violent about ripping another person’s clothes off.

Gyre tore away enough of the bodysuit to reveal the Shade’s chest and stomach, his jockstrap and thighs. He explored the newly revealed skin with his eyes, then his fingers, then his tongue and teeth. The Shade’s jaw was clenched. Gyre wanted him to talk again. He’d enjoyed their banter.

“I really want to fuck you,” Gyre said. “But I don’t know if that’s okay or not?”

“What do you think?” the Shade asked. The sarcasm was thick enough Gyre could have lapped it up with a spoon.

“There are so many things I want to know about you,” Gyre said, pressing himself against the Shade again and laying a scattering of kisses along his collarbone. He was hard enough for it to ache. With one hand, he manoeuvred his dick between the Shade’s legs. The Shade responded by attempting to cross them and squeezing tight enough that thrusting between his thighs was almost as good what Gyre had been aiming for. Sweat wasn’t an ideal lube, but there was enough of it that Gyre’s member slid freely.

The Shade hissed in discomfort.

“You’ll get used to the chill,” Gyre said. “It’s my gift, as transmuting through matter is yours. It’s somewhat counterintuitive, but the more aroused I become, the colder I feel. It’s hard to find a partner who will accept that.”

“I really don’t care about your bad sex life,” the Shade growled.

Gyre increased his pace, forcing the Shade to bend slightly backwards over the railing. It wasn’t enough.

“I’m used to getting what I want, but you make it so hard.”

“I’d say sorry, but I’m not.”

“Your body, that’s easy,” Gyre said, pulling back, panting slightly. The Shade’s chest was also heaving. Gyre wondered if the raised arm position was beginning to impact his breathing. He decided he didn’t care. He pulled down the Shade’s jack strap to reveal a penis that wasn’t anywhere near as impressive as the one he’d imagined. Half-heartedly, he fondled the Shade’s balls.

“Like I said, I could've have knocked on your door at any time – don’t look so shocked, I told you I’ve been watching – but I don’t want your body, or rather, I want more than your body.”

Gyre gave up on trying to arouse the Shade and cupped a hand in front of the man’s mouth.

“Spit,” he instructed. The Shade’s whole body tensed, but he complied. “Again. This is for your own benefit.”

Gyre did his best to prepare the Shade with the impromptu lube. It was difficult forcing his finger in to stretch him. The more he wanted the Shade, the cooler his touch became, the cooler his touch became, the more the Shade clenched, tightening almost painfully around his finger tip.

“I want you to respect me,” Gyre said adding a second finger to the Shade’s hole. The Shade made a strangely appeasing whimper before bucking backwards, trapping Gyre’s hand between his ass and the metal railing.

“How the hell do you think this is going to make me respect you?” the Shade asked. His voice was tight and deliciously restrained.

Gyre responded by inserting a third finger. The Shade was so warm inside. The pain of the metal grinding against his skin only added to Gyre’s arousal. The Shade bucked again, attempting to get away from the cold intrusion. Gyre splayed his free hand across the Shade’s stomach. He thrust his fingers in up to the second knuckle.

“And I want to respect you,” Gyre said. “I want us to be equals. Perhaps even friends.”

“Fuck you.”

“I would rather like that, actually,” Gyre said, curving his fingers to stretch open the Shade’s hole. He knew that he should take his time with this part. He’d waited years. He hadn’t even planned to have sex with the Shade at this meeting. But nothing about this had turned out right, and Gyre thought his heart would turn to ice and shatter if he didn’t come soon.

He pulled his fingers out of the Shade’s hole, used his knee to force the man's legs apart, lined himself up, and thrust.

The Shade let out a strangled yelp.

Gyre closed his eyes and pounded in and out. He was big. The Shade wasn’t properly lubricated or well stretched. It wasn’t exactly comfortable for Gyre, but it was exactly what he needed. The Shade was shaking underneath him. Gyre couldn’t tell if he was shivering or crying or both. He didn’t open his eyes to find out. The Shade shouted something indecipherable.

Gyre felt his balls contracting. He shoved himself in as far as he could go, awkwardly holding the Shade up against the railing to get more depth.

He came.

 

*

 

Jackson screamed.

He’d held back before, refusing to give Gyre the pleasure, but he couldn’t help it. Everything was agony. His arms, his head, his ass –

Fuck.

He hadn’t had sex since he’d discovered his gift. It had felt too weird knowing that he might lose his concentration and phase his dick somewhere it was never meant to be. He’d been celibate for almost seven years, and now he was being impaled by the biggest dick he’d ever seen.

It felt like he was being ripped apart.

It was so cold inside him. He kept hoping the temperature would make things number, take a bit of the pain away. Instead, it burned. Jackson bit his lip. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He wanted it to stop. He wouldn’t not give in. How the hell could he give in?

Gyre wanted friendship? What the hell was that supposed to mean. Jackson felt the Gyre shudder against him. The cum was the coldest thing he’d ever felt. Ice daggers stabbing his insides. Jackson didn’t even feel the Gyre withdraw, he was too busy trying to breath around the pain. It went on and on. He curled up on himself, sliding down, through his chains to the floor. 

Gyre was talking. Jackson didn’t want to listen to him. He wanted to ignore the world and pass out, but he was aware that was a profoundly stupid desire which wouldn’t solve anything. He forced himself to focus.

“I’ve always been curious why you phase through doors? Why not the wall beside the door?”

It was an idiotic question. Doors had spaces behind them. Walls could have other walls, shelves, desks, equipment – Jackson could phase through all of it, but it took effort.

He could phase.

He had phased.

He was on the floor in a ragged, half-naked heap instead of dangling like a slab of meat. Shaking, he forced himself to his knees. Then, using the railing, to his feet.

Gyre shrugged. “That took you longer than I expected. I don’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed. You're such a mass of contradictions. You can go anywhere you please, and yet you constrain yourself. I wondered...”

Jackson didn’t know what had happened. Could Gyre turn his ability to phase off and on at will? Had it been only a temporary effect? Would it come back? How long had he been able to phase? Could he have avoided –

Jackson shoved that thought away and ran. He pushed past Gyre and kept going until he reached an outer wall. He could hear laughter, and Gyre shouting after him:

“I know where you live. I know where your friends live, and where you work when you’re pretending to be ordinary, Jackson Shae. I am always watching you. I can always find you. And it will always be an honor.”

Jackson plunged through the wall and into the warm night air. He hung suspended for a moment before falling into the river’s waiting embrace.

 


End file.
